


the wolf and the warrior

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.2 Spoilers, Gen, bran is a 1.0 wol and he's too young for this shit, gaius is just too old for this shit, the weirdest bonding convo you ever did see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: The Warrior of Light has a few words for the former Black Wolf, after the fight at Werlyt. They're...not quite as scathing as you'd think. They're both too tired for this business, after all.5.2 spoilers.
Kudos: 19





	the wolf and the warrior

The Alliance encampment outside Werlyt was uncomfortable, to say the least. It reminded Bran too much of Carteneau, always had; and with what had just happened with the Ruby Weapon, that...that comparison was even more stark in his head. So he didn’t like being here, to say the least. The tension in the air, the banners tall overhead --- though it was kind of nice to see Ishgard and Ala Mhigo’s there, and Doma’s, after all this time --- the tents and the soldiers hurrying back and forth, it itched at him. No matter how many times he could tell himself, we won here, nothing really bad happened here, the atmosphere just...sat wrong. He couldn’t help glancing up at the sky every so often, as if half-expecting the moon to be there again, too bright and too close and too red.

But he had his reasons for being here, this time, when he didn’t have to be, and he was going to take care of it.

The Ala Mhigans were uncomfortable too, that much was obvious--- none of them wanted him to be here, and some were more vocal about it than others. No one had been stupid enough to do anything yet, probably because of the Ironworks presence and that he _was_ helping with the whole Weapon thing, but...discontent could be made known in many ways, and it was the muttering and filthy looks that led Bran to the tent their Garlean guests --- well, he knows the woman is a pureblood, but the man isn’t --- were staying in. The man (Bran knew he’d caught their names, but he can’t really remember them just yet; he knew too many people) was away helping the Ironworks with the remnants of the Weapon again, and the woman was standing guard outside; she looked weary and wary both, tired and a bit on edge, but she recognized him, relaxing a slight bit, and nodded him in.

Gaius Baelsar was sitting at the desk in the tent --- it was a pretty sparse tent, room enough for cots for the three of them and a table and a desk but that’s it --- with his head bowed over some papers, and Bran wasn’t sure what they were, only that it made him look old. He couldn’t remember how old he was, if he’d heard it before, but he definitely looked old. It had been hard to tell, back then, in his Legatus’ armor, disguising face and voice, but now it’s so much more obvious. His hair hadn’t gone grey yet, but if you squinted, there were silvery strands here and there; and that and the bow of his shoulders told a story on their own, one Bran couldn’t help but acknowledge. 

“Hero of Eorzea,” Gaius rumbled after a moment, not looking up, and for a moment Bran remembered another man calling him _‘hero’_ not so long ago. Garleans...liked calling him that, didn’t they? His eyes flicked unconsciously to the masks on the older man’s belt, the pair of red ones, and he wonders which they were. If they were really dead. But that wasn’t why he was here, to bring up Ascians. “There have been no new developments; but I can’t imagine that isn’t obvious. Were you not busy elsewhere?”

“I was,” Bran said, moving to lean on the side of the desk so Gaius couldn’t ignore him. “But that’s hit a wall, so I’ve got free time.” He snorted. “For a given value of _free time_. And I _do_ have a name, though I guess you never learned it, so I can’t complain.” He crossed his arms, staring at the tent wall absently. “I wanted to come talk to you, now that we have more than five minutes to do that. That’s all. No pressing business, just me wanting to talk. If that’s alright with you, _Gaius_.” He didn’t say the name as an insult, no, but...put emphasis on it anyway. Gaius. A first name, like they’re equals. On even ground. Not Van Baelsar, not Legatus, just Gaius. It’s almost funny, but in that tired, bitter sort of way a lot of things were these days.

“I see,” Gaius said, finally raising his head to look at him. With that Bran could finally see the paperwork a little clearer, recognizing Cid’s cramped scribble and realizing it was notes on the Weapon, specifically the machina’s pilot synchronization system. Stifling a wince, Bran let his attention return to the former Legatus, who was studying him quietly. “...you are the boy from before Cartenau,” he said finally, not a question but a statement. “The young knight.”

Bran blinked, and then a smile cracked his face. “Yeah, that was me,” he agreed with a tired laugh. “I was wondering if you’d catch on. No one remembered that until after the Praetorium fell, and I know how different I look now, so…” He shrugged. “That was me. The one you gave the tomestone to, and all that. The one who took down Nael...the first time, anyway.” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s been longer for you than it has for me, but I still remember.”

“...ah,” Gaius said after a moment, lips almost twitching. “So it was more than simply poor memory. I had wondered.” That said, something almost calculating came into his eyes, and it was only then that it hit Bran that he was speaking to a man who’s raised at least six kids. “You are still their hero, then, after all these years.”

“Unfortunately,” Bran said, wondering what the reaction would be if he told him his age, and then deciding to test it. “I’m twenty-one, by the way.” It was a subtle reaction, really, but there was one anyway; a slight widening of his eyes, mental math as he counted back to check how old he must have been back then… “I missed five years,” he added hurriedly, just in case he counted back too far and thought a thirteen year-old had fought Nael van Darnus. “I was eighteen at Cartenau, and eighteen at the Praetorium.”

Gaius snorted, giving Bran a wry look. “And yet somehow that does not reassure me,” he said dryly. “To think I was defeated by a _child_...and yet, with the accounts I have heard of your deeds since, it is difficult to imagine you are still so young. Eikon-slayer, Ascian-slayer, liberator of two nations...you and your companions both have done much. Yet somehow I doubt them quite as young as you, the Doman woman especially.”

“Nah, I’m the youngest,” Bran replied; it had been Cassie, once, they’d thought the youngest, a little younger than him, but...she’s _definitely_ not. “Alan’s in her...thirties, I think? Brona’s a few years older than me, and Cassie’s complicated. I’m the group’s baby, and they only occasionally let me forget it.” He went quiet, and the moment of amusement vanished. “We _have_ done a lot,” he murmured. “It feels like it’s been decades since I left home. But...ten years, counting the ones I missed. Five if I don’t count them, and only three since I ended up a _hero_.” He closed his eyes. “Three years…feels like thirty.”

“You look as if you’ve lived thirty,” Gaius said, and his own voice was a touch quieter. “I do recall that boy from the Praetorium well, and there is reason why I did not at first recognize you, aside from your manner of dress and the weapon you carry. You carry far too much weight for one your age. Far too many lives rest on shoulders too young to carry them. I cannot imagine how heavy the ones you have lost are.”

Bran flinched, looking away, but...no. If anyone understood, it would be someone who had once led a legion, right? Someone who just lost one of their children. “Too heavy,” Bran muttered finally, letting his fingers tighten on his arms. “But I can’t put them down. I don’t plan on ever putting them down. Don’t trust anyone else to pick it up.” He closed his eyes again, with a quiet sigh. “.... _it weighs as it should,_ ” he said quietly, remembering that little boy, part of his fractured soul; he’ll never forget that day, he thought. The things said resonate, always would, and even more so in the wake of all he had learned on the First. There are some things, Y’shtola had said, that are so powerful that they leave marks on mind and soul alike, and that lingered far past the Sundering, no matter what else changed. He thinks...that _guilt_ , in his case, is one of those things. A powerful, leaden guilt that will forever be burnt into his core. That and a desire to _help_ people.

“You wear the wisdom of one far older, far too well for a child,” Gaius mused, though he sounded more tired himself than anything else. “And a nobility I have rarely seen. Eorzea is well defended, I will concede. Though I think it is not simply _Eorzea_ you defend, not any more. Not with the threat of the Ascians.”

_He doesn’t know,_ Bran thought suddenly. Not that his beloved Emperor was....no, he decided. He wouldn’t tell him. Let Solus zos Galvus live on as someone admired, at least in this man’s eyes. It’s the least he could do for Emet-Selch, who may yet have cared about that empire, even if he couldn’t acknowledge it. Let his black wolf stay loyal for a little longer yet. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “Not just Eorzea anymore.”

“A heavy burden indeed,” Gaius said, but then raised an eyebrow. “But I do not think you simply came here to reminisce, hero. What _did_ bring you to me?”

“...I wanted to say I was sorry,” Bran said, after a long moment, and he knew the look he was getting, but he pushed on anyway. “You said...the weight of all the lives I couldn’t save must be heavy? It...it is. And…” He bit his lip. “What was her name? Milisandia? She’s...she’s one of them, now. I’m sorry. I would have saved her if I’d known what was going to happen. Or at least _tried_. She deserved better than that.” He shook his head, staring at the ground. “I won’t let it happen to the others, though. I promise you that, alright? I’ll do my best to save them. No matter what else you’ve done, no one should have to watch their kids die.”

There was silence for a long moment, and then he heard the scrape of a chair, and then there was a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into Gaius’ eyes. “Do not promise me that, boy,” he said quietly, and somehow _‘boy’_ felt more personal than _‘hero’_. “Do not promise something you may not be able to give. It will only cause you more harm in the end. It does you no good to take this burden--- it is mine to bear. I was who allowed this to occur, and Milisandia’s blood is on my hands, not yours. Do not carry it for me.” He didn’t look away. “I have not earned such kindness,” he says, sounding every bit his age, shoulders bent. “Do not pretend at it for the sake of a man who brought naught but war to your shores. But if you insist on foolish compassion, even for your former enemies…” A smile slowly found its way to his lips, even if it was small and worn. “...there are worse things to be than in debt to a hero. My children...will live, or they will not, and either way the blame will not fall on you, boy. But if they are saved, I will owe you more than I can say.”

“You won’t owe me anything,” Bran insisted, quiet but firm. “Just knowing I was able to save at least _one_ of them, that would be enough.” He paused, and then smiled wryly. “But if you really want to owe me if we manage this...just, uh, don’t try to take over Eorzea again, and we’re even. Got that?”

That got a startled snort out of Gaius, and he shook his head. “Understood,” he said, sounding almost amused. “Truly, you _are_ a child. But perhaps that is for the best. Old men...must all learn, eventually, to leave the future to the young. Though we seem to be unable to do so gracefully, in my experience.”

Bran smiled quietly, remembering --- ha --- another old man who had done just that. “Yeah,” he said, at length. “We’ll take care of it for you guys.”

Maybe he _was_ carrying too much. But...sometimes he didn’t mind. It was up to him, to all of them, to show these tired, old men that it was alright to put their weapons down and rest. Not necessarily to forgive them; some things couldn’t be forgiven. But...didn’t mean they couldn’t try. Didn’t mean they couldn’t sit down and let the kids handle it now. Gaius, Hades...they--- he’d show them they could trust children like him with their world. Maybe it was a lot to carry, but after all this time, it was a weight he didn’t plan to put down.

**Author's Note:**

> Being that my Bran has....issues, and that he was a 1.0 WoL, I had a lot of feelings about the Werlyt stuff on him, honestly. And I have a LOT of feelings about Gaius, as divisive as he is, because he hit me right in the tired old soldier feels _and_ the sad dad feels. So I wrote this a while back, and decided to post it.
> 
> Me, drawing parallels with all the tired old Garleans? Yes.


End file.
